FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 152: Chapter 152: Hundred Feet Woman!?

He didn’t pass through it. He fell into it.

The darkness of the ravine, the deafening hiss of the snakes, the humid weight of the Inner Circle, were instantly cut off.

Silence.

Absolute, vacuum silence.

He didn’t fall into water or onto land. He fell into the Void. The crack swallowed him whole, zipping shut behind him like a healing wound, leaving the Sovereign of the Gorge hissing in futile, earth-shaking frustration at the empty space, its prey vanished into thin air.

…

Inside the crack, he expected another place, maybe a secret cave, a hidden valley, or a cliché training dungeon like in those manhuas and animes he used to binge.

But he fucking fell again.

“Oh, come on,” Sol thought, the scream trapped in his throat, unneeded and unwanted. “Can we get some variety here?”

He had seriously reached the terminal velocity of his own patience. He had survived a cliffside collapse, outsmarted a twenty feet bear, and danced with a thousand vipers only to be hunted by a mountain-sized snake.

And now, he had simply accepted his fate. There was no more adrenaline to squeeze from his marrow, no more Charcoal energy to burn. He was just a passenger now, waiting for the inevitable impact… waiting for the splat, to become honourable human red sauce.

…

Sol was floating. Or perhaps he was sinking.

There was no up. There was no down. There was only him, and the sensation of falling without the wind.

He floated in a space that defied description. It wasn’t black; it was the absence of light, a void that didn’t just contain darkness but was built of it. It was cold, but not freezing; there was no frost on his breath, no shivering in his limbs. It was a “null temperature,” a lack of heat that leeched the energy from his skin without the courtesy of a chill.

His body still ached, but the immediate, searing agony of the venom and the beatings seemed muted here, as if his nervous system had been dampened, the “Realistic Survival” volume turned down to a low, manageable hum. Or maybe it was all his imagination due to the fall or his body was finally shutting down.

“Am I dead?” Sol wondered. His voice echoing in the void, and bouncing off invisible walls that felt miles away and inches close at the same time. “Is this the loading screen? If yes, then they have awfully lousy optimization, or did the server crash?”

He tried to move his arms. They responded sluggishly, like moving through thick syrup. He looked down at himself. His clothes were shredded, stained with the blue gore of the snakes and the dark crimson of his own blood.

He drifted for what felt like seconds or centuries, Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, a grey eternity of silence. Time had no meaning here. He tried to swim, to propel himself, but there was nothing to push against.

“Great,” Sol sighed internally. “Eternal purgatory. Zero stars. Would not recommend.”

So, he simply closed his eyes, bracing for the impending demise, waiting for the final “Game Over” screen of his second life.

But the impact never came.

Then, unknowingly, the void shifted.

Far below him… or maybe above him, direction was subjective… a light appeared.

It was not the gentle gold of a dawn, nor the living flame of a campfire. Instead, the dark was pierced by a harsh, flickering radiance… a light that should not exist, pulsing in broken rhythm like the heartbeat of something unseen. It fractured as he drew nearer, splintering into jagged shapes and shards of brilliance, geometric fragments that seemed to hang in the air without origin.

And strangest of all, though the glow filled the ancient gloom, he could find no source for it… no torch, no sun, no spark … only the light itself, suspended in the silence, like a glitch in the graphics.

He was fully ready for the inevitable crash, tensing his butt cheeks for impact, but suddenly, he felt a jarring sensation, as if the very rules of the universe had been edited in real-time.

Yoink.

He was held up, caught by an invisible force that felt like gravity had decided to reverse its polarity. His descent slowed from a terminal plummet to a gentle, drifting hover. He was stuck mid-air, a mote of dust in an uncaring room, before he began to slowly, gingerly descend.

He looked around, it was a platform. A massive, floating island of obsidian stone suspended in the nothingness. On the platform stood the ruins of a temple—broken pillars the size of redwoods, shattered archways carved with runes that hurt his eyes to look at, and a floor cracked by eons of silence.

Thump.

Gravity returned with a vengeance.

Sol slammed onto the cold stone floor of the temple. The impact jarred his teeth, reminding him that he was still very much physical.

And he had finally landed on something solid.

“Oof, Ouch!” He grunted.

He gasped, the air of this place tasting of ozone and ancient dust, and… vanilla? He scrambled up, his hands slapping against the black stone, expecting another monster, another trap, or maybe another snake with a personal vendetta.

“Where…” he whispered. His voice echoed here, hollow and lonely.

He looked around. The ruins were colossal. They felt older than the jungle, older than the tribe, older than the planet itself. The stone felt heavy with the weight of forgotten history. This wasn’t a cave. This was … more like a pocket dimension. A bubble of reality stitched into the seam of the world.

He turned slowly, taking in the desolation.

And then, in the darkness that was slowly drifting out from the center of the ruins, he saw it.

Or rather, he saw Her.

Sol stopped breathing. His jaw went slack, practically hitting the floor. Like really real.

Sitting on a massive stone throne at the far end of the platform, illuminated by the flickering, erratic light of the void, was a woman.

She was incredibly gorgeous… like, beyond the definition of “beauty” Sol had constructed in his mind. She was the kind of beauty that made your eyes water just looking at it. a beauty that bypassed the brain and punched straight into the libido.

And strangely, maybe it was him being weird or something, or maybe it was the snake venom talking….she was a beauty he wished to fuck, right here and there, consequences be damned.

But there was one small, teeny tiny problem.

“What the fuck…” Sol squeaked, craning his neck back and back and back, until… it cracked.

She was hundreds of feet tall.

She sat on the throne with the casual arrogance of a deity taking a nap, her size defying all logic. She was approximately a hundred feet tall… a titaness in human shape.

Her face was ethereal and sharp, perfectly symmetrical with a cute button nose that contrasted with the terrifying majesty of her scale. Her skin was flawless, radiating a soft, golden warmth like the first five minutes of a sunrise, illuminating the obsidian throne.

Her eyes were closed, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks that were feet long, but damn, even the lids were captivating. Above them, on her forehead, sat a Golden Stellar Crest… a crown fused into her flesh. But the crest was dimmed, crisscrossed with jagged black cracks, as if she had been broken in a war before time began.

Her hair was a voluminous, messy mane of “pure white.” It didn’t hang down; it floated slightly around her head, as if she existed in low gravity, and small sparks of white light occasionally drifted out of the strands like dying stars.

But it was her body that held Sol captive.

She wore a….tattered?… shimmering “Celestial Peplos” that looked like it was woven from morning clouds and starlight. It was short… scandalously practical for running around… and because of her seated position, the hem rode high, exposing miles of leg, and maybe forbidden valley, which he unfortunately couldn’t see right now.

It showed off her slender, sun-kissed legs. And what legs. Legs that were the size of towers, toned and elegant, the muscles defined under skin that looked like it tasted of honey. leading up to thighs that could crush a castle, soft and firm in equal measure.

Her waist was cinched by a golden cord, emphasizing the dramatic, heart-stopping flair of her hips. It was the Golden Ratio scaled up to god-tier.

And above that…

Sol swallowed hard, his eyes traveling up the landscape of her torso. The celestial fabric clung to her like a second skin made of mist, struggling… and failing… to contain the bounty within.

Her breasts were colossal. They were two perfect, gravity-defying spheres that pressed against the thin fabric, threatening to spill over the low neckline. They rose and fell with a slow, tectonic rhythm as she breathed, a mesmerizing motion that made Sol dizzy. Through the shimmering cloth, he could just make out the heavy, darkened outline of her areolas… peaks that looked like pink mountains in the mist.

The deep valley of her cleavage was a canyon of shadow and soft light, a place a man could get lost in and never want to be found.

She was a masterpiece of eroticism and power, a figure designed to be worshipped on knees… or between them.

…

Sol stood there, a speck of dust in her shadow. He looked at the massive, perfect foot resting on the dais, the arch high and elegant, the toes perfectly formed and tipped with nails that looked like polished pearl.

He gulped. The fear of the snakes, the pain of the venom, the exhaustion… it all momentarily took a backseat to a single, overwhelming thought that blasted through his lizard brain.

“I want to climb that mountain,” he whispered, his eyes glued to the impossible landscape of her body. “I want to plant my flag.”

But reality, as it often did, rudely interrupted his fantasy with a sharp, throbbing reminder of his mortality.

Throb.

A spike of agony shot up his left arm, seizing his chest. Sol gasped, clutching his wrist. He looked down at his hand. The web of skin between his thumb and index finger—where the crushed viper had bitten him in his hallucination… was turning a sickly, necrotic green. The veins were blackening, spiderwebbing up his forearm.

The numbness was spreading. His fingers were already stiff claws.

“Right,” Sol hissed through gritted teeth, stumbling forward. “Dying. Prioritize.”

He looked up at the sleeping Titaness. She was a god. Or maybe a breathing statue. Or a hallucination brought on by snake venom and brain damage. But whatever she was, she was radiating a perceptable, humming energy that made the hair on his arms stand up. It felt like standing next to a nuclear reactor that smelled of vanilla and ozone.

If there’s a cure in this void, Sol thought, dragging his heavy legs toward the dais, it’s her.

He didn’t know if he really wanted the cure or just wanted to climb that mountain once before he died.

He moved across the obsidian floor. The walk felt endless. The scale of the throne room made him feel like an ant crawling across a dinner plate.

He reached the base of the dais. The steps leading up to the throne were cut for giants; each riser was as tall as he was.

Sol grunted, using his good hand to haul himself up the first step. Then the second. He was panting, sweat dripping from his nose, his vision blurring. The poison was reaching his heart.

He pulled himself over the lip of the final platform.

He was there.

Directly in front of him, resting on a velvet cushion the size of a carriage, was her foot.

It was magnificent. The skin was smooth, unblemished, and glowed with that inner golden warmth. The ankle bone was a delicate mountain peak. The arch was a graceful bridge. Her toes were perfect, tipped with nails that looked like polished mother-of-pearl plates.

Sol crawled toward it. He felt small. He felt unworthy. But mostly, he felt like he was about to pass out and die.

He reached the side of her foot. The heat coming off it was intense… like a sunbeam focused through a magnifying glass. But strangely though, It didn’t burn.

“Hey,” Sol wheezed, his voice tiny in the silence. “Sleeping Beauty. I need a favor.”

He raised his blackened, poisoned hand. He didn’t know what would happen. Maybe she would wake up and step on him, or simply slap him to death like an annoying mosquito.

He placed his palm against the soft, warm skin of her instep.

CONTACT.

It wasn’t just a spark. It was a fucking supernova.

BOOM.